The Veil

As a black hole feeds on light, consuming all logic and rationality

This morning, like all other mornings, as I moved from dreams of perpetual stress to the reality of awakened existence, I opened one eye and thought, where have I landed?  Is this a place of terror or a place of peace?  Will my brain chemistry empty a cauldron of doom into my consciousness or will I get a reprieve and see rationality.  

This morning was the cauldron.  My thoughts immediately began racing to an illness I knew I had, cancer.  I knew it, I could feel it.  I had lost a few pounds recently so, what else could it be?  It didn’t matter that my diet had changed dramatically or that I had been physically active more than usual.  No rational thought mattered even though, as far as I know, I do not have cancer.  

As I spiraled, familiar effects began to ooze through my senses.  The top of my head felt the pounding of my heart, I lost focus, not in sight but in perception.  Objects I could see lost their meaning as if staring at a painting with no means of interpretation.  All became diminished because my brain allowed only one thought.  I was dying.

This scenario was nothing new, it has played out over and over again throughout my adult life but worsening as I age.  Whether it be hypochondriasis, bad work scenarios or relationship issues; a segment of my brain’s nature is to focus on one bad thing, displace all else as a black hole feeds on light, consuming all logic and rationality.  This is the domain of my anxiety; mind bending irrationality; the veil.

With both eyes opened now, I knew I had only one choice; movement.  Movement made sense, it was rational, yet it seemed like a herculean task in my immediate universe.  I, a man who has raised two children, held both parents as they ventured into the next realm, and thrived as a corporate executive for 30 years, was now challenged with the mission of swinging my feet over the edge of the bed and onto the floor.  A mission as difficult as anything previous.   

My feet now resting on the carpet and my head cradled in my hands, I was all too familiar my day’s objective, an objective that has become my routine.  To push past the veil of despair and panic based upon nothing real, but seeming real.  That is, to poke a hole through a sheet of imagined ice while holding my breath.  

                                                                      

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